Coyote and the Rock

One fine day Coyote was out for a walk. It had been cold that
morning, and
Coyote was wearing his favorite blanket to keep him warm. As the sun
walked
high into the sky, on his daily journey. Coyote began to get too
warm.
Finally, Coyote began to sweat.

"This blanket is too warm to wear," said Coyote who often talked to
himself.
"I don't want to carry it around with me all day! I think I'll give
it
away."

Walking along the trail, Coyote passed a huge rock that stood at the
edge of
a steep downhill slope. He took off his blanket.

"Grandfather Rock," said Coyote, "I wish to make you a gift." Coyote
took
off his blanket and, with a fancy flip of the ends, he laid it
ceremoniously
on the huge rock. "I am glad to make this give away, for this
blanket will
keep you warm for many winters to come I hope you like it!" The rock
said
... nothing.

"Don't bother to thank me," said Coyote as he climbed up the trail.
The rock
said ... nothing. Coyote stretched his long, long legs and climbed
higher,
for in those days Coyote's legs were as long and graceful as
Antelope's.
"Goodbye, Grandfather!" called Coyote. The rock said ... nothing.

Coyote went along the mesa rim all day, getting into trouble, and
putting
his nose in other animals' business. By sundown, it was getting
cold, and
Coyote started to shiver.

"Brrrr," said Coyote out loud. "Where's that blanket of mine?" Just
about
then Coyote came down the trail to the huge rock and saw his
blanket. "There
it is!" he yelped, and ran to it.

Coyote took hold of one end of the blanket and pulled. The other end
was
hung up on a sharp outcropping. Coyote pulled and pulled, but his
blanket
wouldn't come loose.

"Give me back my blanket, you stupid old rock!" yelped Coyote,
completely
forgetting that he had given it away in the heat of the day. "Are
you going
to give me that blanket?" asked Coyote angrily. The rock said ...
nothing.

Coyote in haste and anger, came around to the downhill side of the
rock, and
jumped up, grabbing the other end of the blanket. Now the uphill end
was
caught on the rock. Coyote gave a good yank, and the blanket came
free.

"That's more like it," snarled Coyote, wrapping the blanket around
him, and
starting down the mesa slope. Then the rock spoke.

"Groan," said the rock.

Coyote's yellow eyes got wide.

"Groan," said the rock.

Coyote turned back to look at the rock.

"Groan," said the rock, leaning downhill towards Coyote.

"Yipe," said Coyote meekly.

"Groan," said the rock, and it began to roll toward Coyote. Coyote
ran as
fast as he could, his blanket flying out behind him. The rock rolled
down
the mesa slope, end-over-end, singing its own deadly song.

The rock slowly gained on Coyote; even Coyote's long, graceful legs
couldn't
get him away fast enough. One end of the rock caught the blanket and
Coyote
flipped over.

"Crunch" said the rock-or was it Coyote?-as the rock rolled over poor
Coyote, squashing him flat as frybread.

The rock rolled on, taking the blanket with it.

Coyote lay there moaning long after the echoes of the rock had
ended. The
valley was silent. The moon came up, and Coyote sang a sad, sad song
to it.

Slowly Coyote lifted himself up on his now very short, bent, and
scrunched-up legs. His tongue hung out as he trotted somewhat
sideways-as
coyotes have trotted ever since-down to the rock in the valley floor
The
rock lay on its side in the moonlight. It was sleeping on the
blanket. Only
the very corners of the blanket showed out from under the rock.

Coyote stood there for a long time looking at his blanket.

"I never liked that blanket anyway," snorted Coyote, and he loped
off along
the valley floor under the full moon.

A story of many Southwestern and Western tribes
[Told by a teenage Dogrib Apache woman named Jane during a story
swap at
Cahokia Mounds, Collinsville, Illinois, September 20, 1987. -
another title
would be Rolling Rock]

From Blue Panther Keeper of Stories.